The day doesn’t fall, we shove it
Over the hills and far gun shots
Scream; the street cries
Blood streams from bags of lies
More fall to their knees in prayer mode
(Brown nosing always sells) by the time
The cops come we’ve stripped the bodies
Of cash keys shoes phones
Spiritual things we respect
In this hood; tradition flowers
On all four corners of the crosses we wear
Bouquets of jacked justification
"To smell the next crash
You have to live" we sneer
At battered wives "why don't you leave?"
So why don't we, homie?